


Bloodied To Shit

by naRK800



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Detroit Evolution, Gavin Reed Backstory, Gavin Reed Needs a Hug, Gavin gets his face kicked in and like the fic is called bloodied to shit so you've been forewarned, Gen, Hurt Gavin Reed, M/M, Nose Scar Origin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naRK800/pseuds/naRK800
Summary: Set in the world of Detroit Evolution"It's about this one night. It just makes me feel like i'm back there."We explore Gavin's emotions and mindset and a little bit of what happened the night he got rescued by Fowler, and how that night becomes a foundation pillar of who Gavin is as a person.
Relationships: Jeffrey Fowler & Gavin Reed
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81
Collections: Detroit Evolution Works by naRK800





	Bloodied To Shit

His nose was broken. Kicked in the face with steel capped boots felt like some kind of rite of passage. The crunch it made when it happened had turned his stomach, which was saying a lot, because Gavin was a veteran of broken noses. Gavin hurt all over. He had cotton in his ears, and he couldn’t walk straight. Gavin suspected a concussion, and maybe some broken ribs. He didn’t count his busted knuckles and split lip amongst the tally. 

Gavin had met Nicky when he was sixteen years old. Smoking blunts and getting drunk with his kind of people, it was the first time Gavin had ever felt like an adult had treated him equal. Nicky looked out for him, the way she looked out for everyone she was with. Gavin had had no friends or family, nothing but a number that shuffled him through a flawed and broken system. He never stayed in one spot longer enough to grow any roots. Not until he met her. She’d showed him the ropes, taught him how to fight - not with his fists, he already knew how to throw a punch. She showed him how to use his words, how to get under people’s skin, how to out-think the idiots and keep one step ahead. 

But to stay warm under Nicky’s wing, he had to earn his way. It was just pot at first, until Detroit legalised it. Then she got him selling pills. Rich kids in rich neighbourhoods were easy targets, so long as you didn’t run into boot lickers, and Gavin held little sympathy for any of them. It wasn’t until Gavin grew into his shoulders and could pull off a 21 year-old that things started going south. Pot and pills turned into little red crystals, sold on the floors of pulsing clubs and in the alleys behind them. With a fake ID that made Gavin feel bulletproof, and a brain that still hadn’t seen its second decade, he didn’t question it when Nicky gave him a bag of something red and told him not to take it. He’d heard of it. Red Ice was sweeping Detroit, everyone had been talking about it, everyone had been asking if he had it. Gavin did what Nicky told him to do and had fun doing it, at least at first. He found his fun in the back of cars, or on his knees in darkened alleys. 

But Red Ice wasn’t like the party drugs Gavin was familiar with. It was violent, and destructive and turned users unrecognisable. When it was people his age, Gavin thought he could stop caring. They were just idiots after highs. But as androids started replacing people, and people started turning to Nicky to escape, Gavin started witnessing a new kind of client, and their drugs stopped being sold to the stupid. They were sold to the desperate. Gavin knew what Red Ice did to people.  _ Everyone _ knew, that was why none of them took it. 

In hindsight, dropping a handful of red ice baggies in front of Nicky and telling her he’d rather eat shit than sell red ice anymore hadn’t been the most tactical of ways he could have broken the news to her. But they’d been running together for years. Gavin thought they were  _ friends _ . Instead, Gavin ended up being someone Nicky made an example of - how not to act, how not to talk to her, how not to treat her business. 

Gavin had the phone in his pocket and the clothes on his back - clothes that weren’t meant for a Detroit winter. Gavin wondered if he could sell his phone somewhere, get some cash to buy a motel room for the night until he could figure something else out. But the screen was cracked, and it was covered in blood. Who the hell would want to buy it? He could beg for money; ask people on the street, hope he wasn’t shoved away. But he could hardly stand, and who carried cash on them these days, anyway? He couldn’t call anyone. Everyone he knew ran with Nicky, they were more likely to find out where he was and finish the job than help him. Maybe he could break into someone’s car, keep warm that way. Maybe he could hide out in a Starbucks somewhere and hope they didn’t notice all the blood. 

But as Gavin’s adrenalin started to wear off, so did his numbness. His face was still bleeding, and there was a panicked moment where he thought it was from his eyes. Closer inspection told him that his face was split open, right across the ridge of his nose where that steel-capped boot had got him. 

Gavin leaned against a wall just inside an alley and bent over, spitting out a mouthful of blood. He let out a pained sob, and used his frozen hands as ice packs against his burning face. He was alone. He didn’t have a penny to his name, and his body felt like lead. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. 

“Fuck,” Gavin gasped as he looked down the dirty alley he was propping up. “Fuck.  _ Fuck, you stupid piece of shit, fuck!” _ Wrapping his arms around himself, Gavin shuffled forwards down the alley and out the other side. Maybe… he could find a homeless shelter somewhere? He had no idea where the hell he’d find one, how to even get into it. A church, then, maybe? Would a church take him for the night? Were there even any churches in this part of town? What if he went to hospital? Gave them a fake name so they couldn’t stick the bill onto him, or left before they could process his discharge? Did hospitals even see deadbeat idiots who got kicked in the face?

Gavin made it two more blocks before he couldn’t walk anymore. He spat out more blood, and slid down the wall of an alley, using his thighs as a windbreak against his chest. There were three cigarettes left in the packet in his pocket, and it wasn’t until Gavin tried using his cheap plastic lighter that he realised his right hand was busted from throwing punches. He lit the cig with his left, and smoked it slowly, trying to leech heat out of it.

Gavin’s head hung from his shoulders. He could barely see from his swollen-shut eye, and could barely breathe from his kicked in chest. He held his busted right hand against his stomach and just smoked - he didn’t move, he tried not to think, tried not to let the reality of the situation settle over him. Stupid kids like him died on the streets all the time. Nobody would claim him, Nicky wouldn’t want to. He’d just be some John Doe, cremated and forgotten, and not a single person on earth would miss him, think about him, or give a shit that he was gone. 

How had he fucked up so badly?

Gavin tried to get up twice, but his body didn’t let him get much further than a crouch. His whole head felt swollen, with a sharp pain right behind his eyeballs, as well as where he’d been kicked. He couldn’t move, and in his misery, Gavin wondered why he should even try. His options were selling drugs or selling skin, and look how great the first one had gone. If he didn’t freeze to death in that very alley, what good was his life going to be? Why not just let the cold take him and put him out of his misery? Gavin wasn’t anyone worth saving. When had he ever been worth anything? 

Gavin didn’t notice the car that stopped outside the alley, but he noticed the crunch of boots against snow. He turned his face to look, and Gavin’s heart jumped into his throat with a dull panic as he realised they belonged to the police. Gavin hadn’t considered the cops. A night in a cell would definitely keep him warm and alive… 

“You alright, son?” the officer’s voice was deep and booming. Gavin almost didn’t answer, his eyes dragging up to meet his gaze. 

“Fuckin’ peachy, officer,” Gavin croaked, his voice trembling from the cold. The officer walked closer, until his body cast a shadow from the streetlights over Gavin, who took to staring at the man’s kneecaps when he couldn’t see his face anymore. 

“What’s your name?”

“What…?” Gavin considered giving a fake one, before deciding he didn’t care. “Gavin.”

“You wanna tell me why the bottom half of your face is caked in blood, Gavin?” the officer asked, which made Gavin reflexively smile. Gavin took his time answering, but he didn’t make the officer ask a second time. 

“Told my boss i wasn’t gonna run Red Ice for her anymore, that i couldn’t do that shit anymore,” Gavin’s voice cracked with pain, which in turn made him smile again. “She took it like a champ.”

“You got anyone i can call to come pick you up?” he asked, which had Gavin bark out a pained laugh. 

“I dunno, officer. Give the city morgue a call and tell ‘em to get a slab ready for me, i won’t be long…” he deadpanned through a shiver, but the officer didn’t laugh. Gavin watched him shift his weight, and heard him let out a heavy sigh. He almost jumped out of his skin when a pair of broad hands gripped Gavin’s arm and started to haul him onto his feet. Gavin cried out in pain and shock, and staggered a little, having little choice but to allow himself to be moved up the alley and towards the cruiser. 

“The fuck are you doing…?” Gavin breathed, tripping over his own shuffling feet. “You can’t arrest me like this, you’ve gotta tell me what i did first. You’ve gotta tell me my rights,” he protested weakly, and quickly shut up when he was helped into the car and hit with the warmth of the cab. 

Gavin shivered violently as he began to thaw, his teeth clacking and his limbs tingling in a way that ached uncomfortably. His whole weight leaned against the door, and the drive was blessedly silent until they parked. Gavin looked up to see a Krispy Kreme and an old diner, and let out a laugh. 

“Getting donuts for you and the boys? Bit of a stereotype, don’t you think?” Gavin drawled, looking up as his door was opened. 

“Come on, kid,” the officer sighed, “You drink coffee?”

“Like i live and breathe,” Gavin said, staring at him like he was waiting for the punchline. “You’re buying me coffee?”

“I can leave you back in that alley if you’d prefer.”

Gavin followed in a state of shock as he was led into the diner, one of the last that still had human waitresses. They took a seat in the very back, and the officer gently assured their waitress that Gavin wasn’t here to cause trouble, he’d just had a hard night. Gavin didn’t say anything as he was ordered a coffee, and continued to stare at the officer until she was gone. 

“So. What made you wanna stop dealing red ice?” Gavin was asked, and it was hard not to prickle at the tone of voice. 

“I dunno,” Gavin muttered, his eyebrows drawing up. Whatever this was, it felt like a test, and he knew he was one wrong answer from fucking it up. “I just couldn’t do it anymore.  _ I couldn’t do it anymore. _ ”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?!”

“Nuh uh, you don’t take that tone with me. Why?” the officer pressed. Gavin stared at him, his stomach turning as he tried to find the words to tell the officer to stay out of his business. Gavin had said some vicious things to cops in the past, some of it deserved, some of it not. He was usually the first to oink when he saw a squad car, the first to throw punches so the rest could run. He could feel that anti-cop sentiment crawling up his spine, the urge to hate because that was what he always did. But as his coffee was set in front of him and he brought it to his face with trembling hands, Gavin just didn’t have it in him. Not when the only person to scrape him off the pavement and show him a lick of kindness was a cop. 

“When you’re dealing party drugs it’s fun, right? People getting fucked up for one night, letting go for a little while, fucking who they want for a little while. But Red Ice, it’s like…” Gavin swallowed and shifted in his chair, his eyebrows furrowing in the centre. “It’s not just one night. It turns ‘em  _ bad _ , you know? You expect the people my age, but there’s mom’s with little kids who are trying to escape their shit lives, and… you’re not just selling a good time, you’re selling…” Gavin couldn’t meet his eye, and took another trembling sip of his coffee. “I couldn’t do it anymore. They’re gonna get a hit with or without me, so they can fuckin’... get it without me helping, i’m not gonna be the reason someone’s life is fucked up.”

“And when they found out, they beat your ass and kicked you out.”

“Oh, this?” Gavin gestured at his face. “Nah, i bumped into a pole. Fell down some stairs, you know?” he mocked, relieved when that  _ finally _ got him a huff of laughter and a smile. They were silent for a while as they drank their coffees. Gavin used some napkins to mop up the blood he was caked in, and gingerly touched his nose to check how bad it was. 

“So what’s next? You’ve got some brains in there, you could go to college and make something good of yourself.”

“Do i look like i’ve got the damn money for college, genius?” Gavin snapped. “What’s next is i’m gonna find a shelter that’ll take my stupid ass and hope i can find a job wiping glasses or doing dishes somewhere.”

“And if you can’t?” the officer asked, his question almost rhetorical. 

“Take a wild fuckin’ guess,” Gavin sneered, his teeth bared and his eyebrows shaking. 

The officer set his coffee down with an unhappy thunk, and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. Gavin gazed up at him through his eyebrows, and then looked down, savouring what was left of his coffee. 

“Tomorrow morning at 7am sharp i wanna see you at Central station, Gavin.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna ask the receptionist for Fowler.”

“ _ What?” _ Gavin looked at him properly, utterly lost. “Is that your name…? Is that…?”

“Yeah, that’s my name. There’s an internship program that started last monday at the station. I’ll get you in as a latecomer. It doesn’t pay much, but if you stick with it for a couple months, we can see about getting you into boot camp and then go from there. You could have a career, really make something of yourself, Gavin.”

“ _ What the fuck?!” _

“I don’t need to take a wild fuckin’ guess to know what happens to kids like you who can’t find jobs. If you’re serious about leaving that all behind, i’ll see you at the Central precinct at 7 sharp,” Fowler said, firm but kind. 

“Yeah, i am, i… I don’t have any clothes, there back at-- I lost everything.” 

“I’ll get you some new clothes. Are you using?” Fowler asked.

“No, only when i’m dealing at clubs. Not Red Ice, though, just uppers. Oh yeah, and pot, sometimes,” Gavin admitted. Fowler leaned forwards, his eyes hard and his expression no-nonsense. 

“You want a career with the force, then you cut that shit out here and now, kid, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I find out your blood tests come back with you positive, we’ll be having words.”

“Alright, fine,” Gavin snapped, then at the look Fowler gave him, quickly added, “Yes, sir.”

Gavin barely remembered the rest of the conversation, unable to quite believe it was real. When he finished his coffee, Gavin limped out of the diner and let himself be helped. He didn’t know why, or what he’d done to deserve it, but Fowler drove him to a motel near the precinct and paid for a room. He didn’t have to do that, and Gavin made sure to tell him over and over until Fowler said goodnight, and left him on the motel’s doorstep. 

Gavin immediately got in the shower and set the water at hot as he could stand it, letting it wash the blood off his skin and soothe the aches in his body. He took deep breaths, his hands shaking as he cradled his nose - and  _ screamed _ as he broke it back into place with a sickening crunch so it was straight again. Fresh blood began to drip into the water at Gavin’s feet, and he stared down at it, trembling from head to foot. He should have died tonight. Propped up in that alley, he should have died, just another junky street kid who made bad choices. Gavin’s stomach sucked in as his breathing became laboured, and his vision blurred as hot tears joined the blood dripping off his chin. He should have died, and he hadn’t. He’d been given a second chance, and just the  _ concept _ of second chances was so foreign to Gavin, so completely beyond his normal, that it was like finding out he was homeless and immediately winning the lotto. 

Gavin sobbed as he bled and cried in that scalding hot shower. He didn’t care if he had to dumpster dive for the next six weeks, he wasn’t fucking this up. He’d sleep in the precinct basement if he had to, if they’d let him. He just had to make it to boot camp. Then he could go to police academy, become an officer - hell, maybe one day a detective. He just had to make it through the winter, make it through the internship. He just had to make it through the night, and get there by 7am sharp. He just had to prove that he was worth it, that he was better than everyone thought he was, that he could do anything everyone else could do and do it twice as well. Gavin sat on the shower floor and pressed a hand into his ribs where it hurt, letting himself fall to pieces. All he had to do was survive, and he’d done it by the skin of his teeth. 

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea of Gavin's scar being sort of an embodiment of his rough past. The way he was brought up and the people who sort of raised him from a teenager to a young man are ingrained into his personality, he's forever marked by those people in a way that has become his identifier - both physically and through his personality.  
> I wanted to make that scar, and the people who gave it to him, to be parts of himself Gavin doesn't like, because it just makes it so neat when Nines later, specifically, calls the scars charming. It works so well for Nines to specifically tell Gavin that he likes the parts of himself that Gavin specifically hates, and therefore accepts the worst of him.
> 
> How old is Gavin in this fic? Shhh don't worry about it ((: But somewhere between 19 and 21
> 
> I would also like to add that @DeviantViennese on twitter was writing this exact same fic idea in German the same time I was and posted theirs a few hours before mine. I have no idea how similar it is (I haven't read it yet!), but if you love this fic idea, please read it at: https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5ea4926c00010508269e3d8a/1/Detroit-Evolution-Difference
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please watch Detroit Evolution on the Octopunk page on YouTube if you haven't already  
> Nines is played by @MaximilianKoger  
> Gavin is played by @ChrisDTrindade  
> Detroit Evolution was crafted by @ladytuono
> 
> Please remember that this fic is about the Reed900 ship. Kindly do NOT ship Chris and Maximilian together.
> 
> Find me on twitter - @MutualTrust2038
> 
> A cheeky comment would make my heart warm <3


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